• Across the mountains a sparrow like a shadow flies.
    A glint of hunger in the raven's eyes.

    The raven, like night, is swift and aims true.
    The sparrow flits through the dawn sky blue.

    The raven finds its feast.
    The sparrow flies dead east.

    The sparrow goes to a far-off land.
    The raven dives to the food grown sand.

    When these two birds like cotton and silk finally meet,
    Oh, that sight shall be sweet.

    With the sparrow small, and the raven black,
    Neither King can surely lack.